An Unimaginative Experience
by Ed3
Summary: AU - An incident aboard a train creates an unexpected interest within Zel on two strange characters.
1. Chapter 1

An Unimaginative Experience  
  
The sheep laid on it's back on the middle of the train tracks as it's legs were pointing to the sky. The lever that activated the emergency break was pulled, making the passangers to jerk forward and slam back to their seats in a split second. One Zelgadis Greywords was shooked awake by the sudden jerking motion.  
  
Lost as to what was going on, Zelgadis looked for any clue on the situation. From his window seat, he could see the endless green field populated by the average farm animal, a few cows, horses and sheep here and there. The trained curved around the perimeter of a field giving a perfect view of the animal to Zelgadis. Annoyed comments about the independency of the train service were shared by many passengers. After pulling down his reading glasses, the slam of a train door was heard and in his line of vision, a figure appeared. He narrowed his eyes at the figure, it looked to be female. She reached for the sheep, kneeled down, gripped it by it's fleece and heaved it to its feet.   
  
"What's going on?" A voice behind Zelgadis brought him back to the train. The stranger leaned over him to look at the scene outside of the train, he smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. Zelgadis drew back on his seat.  
  
"Interesting..." Said the stranger behind a pair of binoculars trying to get him to look out the window. "I'm a bird watcher," the man spoke trying to explain why he had a pair of binoculars strapped around his neck. He continued, "kind of like my hobby. Ah!" the stranger adjusted the lenses, "here we go. A sheep was on it's back, want to take a look?" he offered Zelgadis who kindly refused.  
  
"I saw it as we stopped," the stranger spoke after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, then. "Pretty girl! Wanna look?"  
  
Again, Zelgadis refused.  
  
"What was it doing on it's back?" The stranger spoke again, trying to remain in friendly terms with Zelgadis.  
  
"They get stuck,"  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"And die."  
  
"Blood rushes to the head, doesn't it?"  
  
"This is a non-smoking section" Said Zelgadis, trying to stop, or at best change the conversation.  
  
"I know, I'm in the next passanger car passing by from the buffet. Ah, here comes the guard, finally some action. You must've noticed him, he's the one that was taking the tickets, seemed like a nice guy. Oh! he's shouting and she's shouting back. She might be the one that stopped the train, she looks outraged, think she's mad?"  
  
Zelgadis didn't reply.  
  
"There's going to be a lot of questions to be asked when this ride's over. She let go of the sheep, it's walking away and joining some other one in eating some grass without a care in the world. You sure you don't want to take a look?"  
  
"Go away" He said tersely.  
  
"Alright, keep your cool." He stood upright, letting the binoculars thumb against his torso. The door swished at him leaving.  
  
Zelgadis stretched his legs as much as possible and looked ruefully at his glasses, they had snapped in his hand. However, his tormentor was back within the next few minutes.  
  
"Think I can see if I can have a few words with her, want to come? There might be a story behind all of that, you never know. She's in coach, what do you say?"  
  
"Leave her alone," Said Zelgadis, regretting the words after they left his mouth.  
  
"She's a friend of yours or something? She hasn't realized that some of us have business to attend to, 'leave her alone' ha! that's rich." The man spoke, leaving a heavy trail of liquor in his breath. Zelgadis closed his eyes as he listenede for the swish of the door.  
  
"You've cut your hand," pointed the partial drunk still hovering close. When Zelgadis hadn't answered, he moved away and the swooshing of the doors announced his retreat.  
  
As the train began to move, he placed the glasses inside his pocket and wiped away the blood from his cut hand. Rage had mand him prockle with sweat. He wanted a drink but feared meeting his tormentor in the buffet. He had not seen the girl clearly, butr was left with the impression of a white face, ruby red eyes, heartshaped face and small lips (however, they were rather large when she was shouting at the guard) all under a fiery mane of red hair being ruffled by the wind. She had seemed a crature more vulnerable that the sheep she was rescuing, she looked deep down in despair.  
  
Would the guard be rude to her? He had seemed to be a quet and curteous man when he asked for the tickets. Yes, the guard would be polite, for it's in their policy to be curteous to the passengers.   
  
But what about that foul smelling bird watcher? Was he really a bird watcher, as he claimed to be? What if he's a journalist working for one of those tabloids? 'There might be a story...' were ominous words. Would the guard protect the girl? Would she perhaps take shelter in the lavatory and lock herself in? Zelgadis visualized the girl crouched miserably in confined and possibly malodoruous space for the rest of the journey.   
  
Should he follow the stranger and prevent him imposing himself, demanding a story, not listening to a word she might say while he fabricated his own?  
  
'Communication cord drama on train'  
  
'Shepherdess leaps to rescue lamb'  
  
Or worse.  
  
'Little Bo-peep in Lamb Chop drama'  
  
Furious, Zelgadis rose to his feet, but instantly sat down again; rushing to the rescue would make things worse.  
  
When the train stopped at Crowne Plaza, he scanned the crowds. He had not seen her in the crowds that got off the train, at least he didn't think he saw her getting off. 'The intelligent thing to do,' he thought, 'would be to pick up her bag and make her way forward so that at Ayer, she would have a head start for a taxi cab or the bus. If she comes through here and that guy follows her, I'll get in his way while she escapes.' He decided.  
  
The girl did not appear for the remainder of the train ride.  
  
'In any case,' he again thought as the train approached the Ayer station, 'how would I recognize her? I didn't get to see her clearly; it was the impression that was clear. He got to his feet and, heaving his traveling bag over his shoulder, joined the rest of the crowd at the exit doors.  
  
When he was the girl threading her way through the hurrying crowd he was reminded of Greta Garbo in the film Ninotchka, seen long ago in black and whit. She was wearing a long black coat which reached her ankles and a big black hat pulled low over her nose. He could not be sure it was the right girl until he glimpsed the stranger hunting throught hte crowd, didging like a football player to get ahead and confront her. As the black coat brushed past him, Zelgadis stepped in her wake and the man, recoiling, cannoned backwards into a trolley piled with luggage to fall on his back while the girl disappeared.  
  
Ignoring the man's troubles, Zelgadis walked across the street from the station for a taxi. It had not been necessary to trip the man, but if it had been necessary, he would not have hesitated to do so.  
  
***  
  
Well, what do you think of the first chapter?  
  
If for some particular reason this seems familiar, well I truly apologize. Most of the text is from Mary Wesley's 'An Imaginative Experience'. (hinting on my title, aren't I such a clever boy?)  
  
If you're wondering, is the creation of me not getting enough sleep during this week, therefore I'm going through insomnia while writing this, not to mention that I thought it would be fun.   
  
More slayer characters are going to come into play later on in the next few chapters.  
  
Disclaimer - I do not own the Slayers characters nor 'An Imaginative Experience' I'm just having a little fun with them.  
  
Comments or feedback is greatly appreciated AND wanted. I need an ego boost! - baka_baka60@hotmail.com  
  
Until then, this is Ed signing off. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
At about the time Lina Inverse was stopping the train to succour a sheep, her elder sister, Luna Inverse, was bracing herself to clear up the mess left in her house by a variety of people who had come to sympathize and mourn with her after her son-in-law, Dynast, and nephew's, Christy, joint funeral. Their kindness was such a solace, she told her friend and gossip Zelas Metallium, who had volunteered to help.  
  
"I did what he would've liked, what he would've chosen if he had been here." Luna said.  
  
"Yes, of course," replied Zelas while thinking about a harder drink like sherry or whiskey instead of the served salmon sandwiches and champagne. "Do you want me to put the plates in the dishwasher?" And removing the coat of the black suit she pushed up the sleeves of her white silk shirt.  
  
"It's not working" Said Luna from across the kitchen.  
  
"So the plumber didn't come?" Zelas, who had opened the dishwasher, closed it. "Useless!"  
  
"The plumber," said Luna, enunciating carefully, "is on holiday."  
  
"But he has a partner."  
  
"Gone to a football game."  
  
"Shall we leave it then?" Ventured Zelas, unrolling her sleeves, feeling a little cowardly.  
  
Luna eyed the disorder with distaste. "Oh, if only Dynast..." she said. "He was such a..." she choked.   
  
Zelas, searching for the right word, offered, "handyman?" Seeing her friend's eyes water up, Luna added, "and so much more."  
  
"Oh, so much, so much." Luna wiped her eyes. "He was... oh... he... oh..."  
  
"Yes, of course he was." Zelas said quickly. "Well then let's get cracking," and for a second time, she rolled up her sleeves. 'No use waiting for handyman Dynast,' she thought, 'even alive, he kept people waiting.'   
  
Wrapping an apron around her waist, she said, "I'll wash, you dry." Then turned on the hot water and squirted Palmolive into the sink. "You'll feel a lot better,' she said bracingly, "when the house is clean. Should we clean the living room first?"  
  
Luna Inverse did not answer but picked up a tray and went to collect plates and glasses from the living room. 'I wish Zelas wouldn't call my drawing room a 'living room,' Dynast never called it that, though he would refer to it as my 'parlor,' jokingly of course. Oh, his jokes - Shall we go into your parlor? - She could hear the sound of his voice tease her.  
  
"Phew! What a stink! I wish people would not smoke, it's a disgusting habit." Zelas said before opening up the back door of the house that led to the garden, inviting in the cold air of autumn inside the house.  
  
'She forgets, Dynast smoked.' Then she smiled, remembering his voice - Dear old Zelas, never liked it when people smoke. - she followed her friend and quietly closed the garden door.  
  
However, Zelas opened it again and stepped into the terrace. "Geez," she said, "Empty bottles, glasses too. Whoever was out here punished these bottles." Then she remembered that the vicar who had officiated and the doctor had been out here, talking to Lina while she waited for the taxi to take her to the station; both men chatted kindly as they gulped their drinks and tactfully chewed their sandwiches. Lina has stayed mute, neither drinking nor eating, just standing.  
  
The two men had remained out here after the taxi had driven away. 'Had they come in and said 'goodbye' and 'thank you' to Luna? People, even doctors and priests, had such casual manners these days.' She eyed the empty bottles. One had heard that doctors took to the bottle; their life was such a strain, but priests? "You would think," she said to Luna as she clattered glasses into the foaming sink, "that Lina would have stayed to help. It would have been considerate."  
  
"Lina only considers herself, and don't break any of my glasses." Luna said. "Oh! Why did this happen to me?" she wailed, "I was relying on Dynast. I didn't call the plumber until yesterday. Dynast said... so of course..."  
  
Zelas let out a compassionate 'oh' before running a glass under the faucet.  
  
"She didn't even wear black," continued Luna.  
  
"But I saw her in a black hat and coat."  
  
"Not underneath, she was wearing jeans and a sweater. Imagine wearing jeans and a sweater at Dynast and little Christy's funeral."  
  
"True, and he her husband," said Zelas thoughtfully drying another glass. "And she his widow. Are you the widow of a divorced husband?"  
  
"Don't start splitting hairs," exclaimed her friend. "Little Christy was her child!"  
  
"So he was."  
  
"And my precious nephew!"  
  
"She probably had no black clothes with her wherever she was when she got the message," Zelas spoke in a tolerantly tone of voice. "She looked as though she was wearing black even if she was not. You couldn't tell about the jeans."  
  
"I did."  
  
"You are such a perfectionist."  
  
"Whose side are you on?" Lina's sister raised her voice to a shout. "It was all her fault, that accident; everyone knows Dynast was a terrible driver. She always did the driving when they were together. She should've never divorced him."  
  
"Did she ever give a reason?" Noticing that her friend stood idle, Zelas took the cloth from her and began polishing the glasses. "You never told me the real reasons. We all heard the reasons in court, of course, but... where do these go?" she held up a glass.  
  
"On the shelf, no, not that one, the one on the left. Lina's reasons were outrageous."  
  
"Oh?" Zelas set the glass on the shelf indicated, noticing the crack on the rim of the glass, she turned it the glass so that the crack faced inward. 'At times Luna can be so anal about some things.'  
  
"One reason was that Dynast... no, I can't tell you. It's too..."  
  
"Go on, nothing shocks me" Zelas Explained.  
  
"What was shocking was the utter frivolity of her reasons. Hey! Zelas, you've cracked a glass."  
  
"It's a tiny crack, you can hardly see it. Now, what do you mean by frivolous reasons? Give me an example."  
  
Ignoring Zela's request, Luna moved onto a new subject. "Dynast gave me those glasses, you've spoiled the set."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry."  
  
Luna, harking back, said, "their divorce was not yet absolute so she would be his widow, and the divorce was making no difference to Christy."  
  
"Lina had custody."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"If my child was killed in a car accident, I would've been devastated."  
  
"She doesn't look it, does she?" Luna snorted. "Lina is not devastated. If you ask me, the judge who gave Julia custody should have his head examine. Dreadful old geezer."  
  
"Then would you have wanted Dynast to have custody of Christy?" Zelas raised her eyebrows in astonishment. "Surely everybody..." but she trailed off letting that thought die inside her mind. 'Surely everybody knew that Dynast was to all intents and purposes an alcoholic? A charming guy, but an alcoholic none the less.'  
  
"Of course I would," Luna retorted. "Christy would have lived with 'me,' that's what Dynast would have wanted!"  
  
'What honestly,' Zelas thought, getting back to the dishes in the sink. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 -  
  
Leaning forward to read the meter, Zelgadis Greywords noticed that there was another taxi outside his house and, standing by it, his wife Amelia. "Keep driving, please," he said to the driver. "Stop at the next corner, by the mailbox."  
  
The man drove on. At the corner Zelgadis got out, paid his fare and waited while it drove away. Then, sheltered by the mailbox, he looked back.  
  
His wife, watched by the driver of the other taxi, was loading suitcases and packages into the cab. "You might give me a hand." Her voice, high and whining, carried in the quiet street.  
  
"Got a bad back," retorted the driver.  
  
"Bet you haven't," she said as she heaved a large cardboard box into the taxi.  
  
"That's it then?" Asked the driver.  
  
"No, that's not it!"  
  
Zelgadis grinned.  
  
Amelia went back into the house to reappear with two large carrier bags, which she threw onto the seat of the cab, followed next by a cardboard container. The driver pulled out a newspaper and began to read about the upcoming football games.  
  
Zelgadis waited.   
  
'Five and a half, six years ago,' he thought. 'I looked across the room at a party and saw that girl, caught her eye. We nodded; I wove through the crowd and took her hand. As we left the party I told her my name and she told me hers. I took her out to dinner, she confided on her troubles. We ended the evening in bed and were married six weeks later. I loved her, I supposed it to be a grand passion.'   
  
His wife had gone back into the house. Zelgadis shifted his weight from foot to foot.  
  
Amelia emerged from the house, dwarfed by the television in her arms. She negotiated the steps with care, biting her lower lip in concentration.  
  
The cab driver half folded his paper, but thinking better of it, opened it out while watching his fare in the mirror as she placed the television on the floor of the cab.  
  
Zelgadis thought admiringly: she took the small television from the bedroom on her first raid, bravo! She receives a 10/10 for her thoroughness.   
  
Finally, Amelia went back into the house, but only to fetch her bag; she slammed the door shut and got into the cab, shouting, "Alright then, drive!"  
  
'Did I confuse love with lust?' he thought. There was a time that I would've raced after that taxi, stopped it, dragged her out, and prevented her from going.   
  
"It was lust." He said out loud to the mailbox.  
  
The taxi diminished down the street and turned out into King road. Zelgadis walked back and inserted his key in the lock. Inside the house he sniffed, let the bag he was carrying drop and, breaking into a run, rushed around the house opening windows. Cold air streamed through French windows opening onto the garden from the family room, and upstairs through bath and bedroom. Hurrying to the basement, he heard the doorbell ring. He threw open the small window and squinted up to catch a glimpse of his visitor.  
  
Recognizing stout calves above neat ankles and extremely high-heeled shoes, he said, "Filia!" I'll come up in a minute." He wedged the window with an empty milk bottle.  
  
"What's going on?" Filia leaned to peer through the area railing. She had immense blue eyes popping either side of a beautiful nose and sensual lips.  
  
"I'll let you in." Zelgadis retreated fro the area to hurry upstairs and open the front door.  
  
"Are you aiming to catch pneumonia?" Filia stepped into the house. "It's freezing!"  
  
"Amelia has been her." Zelgadis closed the door behind her.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Removing the last of her things"  
  
"I see." Filia moved into the family room. "But why are all the windows open?"  
  
"Can't you smell it?  
  
Filia sniffed, 'M-m. How long was she in here?"  
  
"Don't know, long enough I suppose."  
  
"It won't linger," Filia said. "'Emotion' doesn't. I thought you were still away. I brought a note asking you to telephone when you got back, thought you might like a meal or something, thought you might be lonely."  
  
"I am!" Zelgadis exclaimed. "It's lovely, it's great!"  
  
Filia laughed. "If you're going to keep all the windows open, I'll borrow a coat if you don't mind."  
  
"Just a few more minutes, let it air out. I'll put some water to boil to make tea."  
  
"Coffee, please. And I'll be shutting down the windows now. You're imagining the smell."  
  
"I saw her from a distance," Zel continued, "She was piling her stuff into a taxi as I got back."  
  
"You talked to her?"  
  
"I dodged"  
  
"Coward," Filia said teasingly. "I wonder what else she took."  
  
"She's taken everything that can be sold, probably sold it to pay for her new outfits."  
  
"You don't care? The house looks dreadfully bare."  
  
"No."  
  
Filia closed the French windows and followed Zelgadis into the kitchen. "Did she leave you the coffeemaker?"  
  
"I recently bought a new one. Oh, damn it! She too that too!"  
  
"Well, let's go to my place," Filia offered, though she was laughing when making her offer. "I'll make you tea."  
  
"No, that's alright, I'll boil some water in a saucepan."  
  
"Get the locks changed Zel," Filia advised him. "Or you will come home one day to a completely stripped house."  
  
Not fond of unsought advice, Zelgadis boiled water in a saucepan and made coffee for Filia and strong Indian tea for himself.  
  
"That stuff will rot your guts. Amelia was right about that at least."  
  
"Coming up in the train," Zel began to talk in order to avert the conversation to a different topic. Placing the cups on a tray, he moved once again into the living room, "I saw the most extraordinary thing."  
  
"What?" Filia sat on the sofa with her legs apart.  
  
About to sit in an armchair opposite of her, Zel changed directions to sit next to her on the sofa. The brevity of Filia's skirts unnerved him. "I am easily unnerved," he said.  
  
"You are easily unnerved. Now, what was that thing?" Filia reached for her cup.  
  
"A sheep."  
  
"A sheep?"  
  
"On it's back." Zel recounted his tale for her; the sheep, the rescuing girl, the drama, the guard, the stranger and he broken glasses.   
  
"The train must've been going really slow then."  
  
"The train travels at a very rapid speed, however, on weekends they go slow. They need to run up a maintenance check on the track. Thus the train going at a much slower rate, allowing the train to stop within a hundred feet of the sheep, otherwise the girl would've had to stopped the train miles before hitting the sheep if the train was going in it's regular speed." Filia, knowing best, gripped her saucer. "I suppose you were asleep when she stopped the train."  
  
"It gave a quick jerk."  
  
"Did you speak to her?"  
  
"No, I told you."  
  
"You wanted to, but you hesitated. You are a terrible hesitator," Filia accused him.  
  
'Once, for a brief moment. I was tempted to make love to you, but I hesitated.' Zel thought and chuckled a little.  
  
"What are you laughing about?" asked Filia. "The way you told it, it's a sad story. You said that the girl looked mad?"  
  
"No. The oafish bird watcher suggested she was mad, she looked terribly sad, not mad at all."  
  
"How can you see this without your glasses? You said you broke them. Let me see your hand." Filia took his hand. "Damn it Zel, that's a nasty cut. Shouldn't it be stitched? Let me get you a bandage."  
  
"No." Zel withdrew his hand. "Thanks, but no, it's ok."  
  
"And you must get new glasses, I know you can see well enough, but when you stress your eyes, you need glasses. I'll make an appointment for you tomorrow, first thing in the morning."  
  
"You are no longer my secretary." Zel informed for the countless time.  
  
"I'll give your oculist a call tomorrow."  
  
"No thanks." and quickly thought 'I mustn't tell her I don't go to him anymore, really would piss her off."  
  
"Have it your way, I'm only trying to help." Filia pursed her lips. "Anyway, sad story, poor little sheep."  
  
"It was a very large sheep mind you, probably a Texel. They are the largest breed."  
  
"Does it matter?" Filia said, getting tired of the sheep talk.  
  
"No."  
  
"So what else did Amelia took?" Her eyes probed the room. "Books?"  
  
"She hardly reads."  
  
"I see she has taken the Meissen pugs and the Chelsea bowl, oh, and he Capo di Monte snuff boxes."  
  
"She gave them to me. She's taken everything she ever gave me. And her furniture, of course. She had never given me anything she wanted for herself." Zel stretched his legs and looked around the room, savoring the lack of clutter.  
  
"I think Amelia has been utterly outrageous. And I am a feminist. Did she leave you any sheets? I remember when you married; it was she who brought the bed linen. If she has purloined the sheet, I can lend you some. Bath towels too. She probably took those also. I'd better go look." Filia rose, stabbing a sharp heel into the parquet, raising her bulk from the sofa in a surprisingly spry movement.  
  
"No, no. Please don't bother Filia. Everything is fine. I'll see you out." He said, assuming she would go, assuming that there would be another carry-on if she saw all the new stuff he had bought during his trip.  
  
"I'll just wash our cups," she said as she too the tray. "I gave you these cups when you married. I'm glad Amelia left them with you."  
  
"So you did. No, Filia, please leave it, I am capable of washing a teacup you know." Zel inclined his torso towards the door.  
  
"Promise me you will let me know if there is anything I can do." She relinquished the tray but stood her ground. "I'm glad she left you the sofa," she said, her eyes making an inventory of the room one last time. "Did she leave you the bed?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"M-m. That figures, yes. You will need somebody to come in and clean. I'll make a few phone calls."  
  
"Please don't bother. I can manage without one."   
  
"You can't possibly manage without one, I..."  
  
"I don't want a cleaner. I don't want the noise of vacuums in my house. I can't come with all the small talk I would have to do."  
  
"You're going to have to, you learn a lot that way, besides it's interesting talking to others."  
  
"No thank you, I'll manage one way or the other Filia."  
  
"The house will be a pig sty within the week. Unwashed dishes, soggy bath towels on the floor and you will run out of toilet paper. Being married didn't change you at all."  
  
"Filia, please stop bossing me around. You are no longer my...." he was interrupted by the blonde.  
  
"Secretary, I know. But still, I will get you a cleaner who comes when you're out and get your locks changed. You'll thank me later."  
  
Zelgadis laughed, "You are a bossy lady."  
  
"I am. I shouldn't have told you this," Filia moved to the door. "But Amelia once told me that you bore her."  
  
"I bored her because she bored me!" Zel said giving Filia a peck on her cheek. "Goodbye."  
  
Closing the door on Filia's departing back, Zelgadis Greywords sniffed the air of his empty house and sensing no longer a lingering trace of 'Emotion.' He let out a joyous whoop.  
  
***  
  
Disclaimer - Slayers characters nor 'An Imaginative Experience' does not belong to me. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
The stranger, whose name was Xellos Metallium (no relation with Luna's friend, Zelas. Just a coincidence in last names), assumed he would have little difficulty in location Lina Inverse. He had what he liked to think of as flair, a talent developed during a brief career in the police and a slightly longer period snooping for a private agency. Neither career had remotely satisfied those who employed him and in consequence had given him small job satisfaction. So when his widowed mother died, leaving him a small, but adequate income, he turned to bird-watching, which had previously been a hobby, into a way of life. He was not married; he was as free as the birds which were his passion to travel wherever and whenever he pleased.  
  
One pleasure was getting into conversation with strangers. He would tell those who would listen that he was writing a book, although this was not strictly true, his writing having got no further than an article or two in his local paper and a paragraph promised in a bird watching magazine. Returning from an autumnal trip to the Scilly Isles and observing from his seat near the buffet, the wading birds on the Exe estuary, the swans focused on a kestrel hovering above a field mouse on the railway embankment, he was able to get a sighting of Lina when she leapt from the train and later exchanged words with the guard.  
  
If Zelgadis had not been so withdrawn and toffee nosed, Xellos might not have bothered to do more than tease; as it was, his stuffy and protective attitude annoyed Xellos and aroused his curiosity; he concluded to include Lina and the sheep in an article he might write on. 'Autumn Bird Life as Viewed from a Train,' or something like that.  
  
Banned, as Zelgadis had hopped for, from any contact with Lina by the guard. Though he had managed read her name on an overnight bad a fellow traveler identified as hers by the seat she had vacated when she leapt on her 'errand.' The traveler volunteered also that Lina had joined the train at the Santa Teresa parkway.   
  
Irritated by Zel's attitude, Xellos vowed to find out what the girl was about and what had roused the interest of a guy like Zelgadis who smelled of expensive cologne, had visibly and offensively reared away from his own well worn and pub scented aroma. 'It would serve Zelgadis right,' Xellos told himself, 'if I located Lina." For he already linked the two in his mind; 'there might be a place for Lina in his notebook marked 'Useful Contacts.' For it would be pleasant to create chaos for him.  
  
When the they reached for the Ayer station, Xellos was convinced of Zelgadis' interest on Lina when he saw Zel stop him from getting to Lina by barricading the path and watching him fall and stumble without offering any help. Then, obviously thinking he would have lost the girl, he stalked on towards the cabs and rather than to look for Lina, Xellos followed Zelgadis to listen for, and note, the address he called out to the driver.  
  
With this accomplished, Xellos wandered back along the concourse to fortify himself with a beer before chatting with old friends in the police and people he had formerly know in the station hierarchy. While drinking his beer, he decided it would be better to leave the police out of this quest and confine his enquiries to old associates among the railway staff. But he was disappointed to find most useful contacts he had known had moved on and the two who were left were less than co-operative. True, they were willing to tell him Lina Inverse's name (though he knew that already) and they agreed that she might be charged for stopping the train. And, should she be charged, she could be fined.  
  
"Then again, she might not." said a man called Bates. "So much gets dealt with by post these days."  
  
He occupied a far more senior post than Xellos remembered and was viewing him now without much friendship.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" he enquired, but before Xellos could think of an answer, his college whose name was Smith, volunteered the suggestion that since the train had scarcely been delayed and unless somebody lodged a complaint, the whole episode would most likely be overlooked. Since stopping a train to rescue a sheep was a trivial and laughable matter, which did little to enhance the image of the train industry.  
  
"You wouldn't be in the business of writing for the newspapers, would you?" Asked the man called Bates, beginning to scowl. "Because if you are..."  
  
Remembering belatedly the terms he had once been on Bates, and that Bates owed him no favors, Xellos voiced a hasty denial and said quite humbly that he 'only wanted the lady's address.'  
  
To which Bates riposted, "we are not in the business of giving ladies' addresses to casual enquirers." Enjoying himself, for he too remembered Xellos, he added, "and now, if there is no more we can do to help, we have other, more urgent matters to attend to."  
  
Feeling that he now had nothing to lose, he said, "like what?"  
  
"Like bomb threats! Didn't you once have a few connection that were dealing with this sort of thing, 'cuz if you are, we might be interested."  
  
Feeling bullied, Xellos denied any connections or knowledge of any sort of people like that. "Look here," he said, "all I wanted was..."  
  
"A bird's address," Bates said.  
  
"Which you won't give?"  
  
"Didn't we say?" Smith spoke as he picked up a folder.  
  
"Well then," said Bates.  
  
Xellos said, "goodbye then," and muttered "Thanks for nothing." And left the office. As he left he heard Smith laugh and Bates ask, "what was his interest with that girl?"  
  
Smith replied, "Search me. The birds he takes an interest in are of the tweet-tweet variety."  
  
Solacing himself with another beer in the pub, Xellos Metallium comforted himself with the thought that he had Zelgadis' address and the knowledge of where Lina Inverse had joined the train. 'There was plenty of time, no hurry at all. It might even be kind of fun to investigate around the area of the Santa Teresa Parkway.  
  
***  
  
Disclaimer - Slayers characters nor 'An Imaginative Experience' does not belong to me. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 -  
  
In late afternoon, Lina Inverse, having walked form Ayer station, shuffled through a pile of advertisement and newspapers which were dropped through the mail slot during the preceding week; she did not pick any of them up. But climbed up the stairs to the apartment she and Dynast had occupied during the years of their marriage. On the top floor, she fumbled for her key, unlocked the door, stumbled in and , without taking off her coat, lurched forward to lie face down on the couch that served as the occasional bed in the living room. As she fell her hat slid off and she lay inert, dead tired.  
  
In the apartments below, people came in from work, turned on their televisions, cooked their dinners, talked loudly, slammed doors, ran baths and went to bed as the night closed in, not to silence, but muffled the roar of a vast city interrupted by the occasional police siren. Some time in the night, an ambulance raced fast through the street, bell ringing. Half-conscious, Lina eased her shoes off, pressing one foot against the other in a state between sleeping and waking.  
  
In the early hours the sound of rain lashing against the window roused her. She got up stiffly, pulled off her coat and went to the window. A wild wind was blowing the rain in slanting lines into the river which was the street, as through a million fishermen cast for trout in the pools forming among the parked cars, whose humped roofs resembled rocks. So she had once described them to her child, holding him in her arms warmly wrapped in a towel after his bath, nuzzling his neck where his hair was damp from soapy water.   
  
"Look," she said to him, "a rushing river. If we look hard we may see a fish."  
  
"A trout?" he said in her arms. "A salmon? A shark?"  
  
"No, no, my love, a dolphin! You shall ride on it's back."  
  
She had held him tight, kissed the nape of his neck, rolled him into his pajamas, put him into his cot, promised to show him a real river, a real dolphin, yes, soon.   
  
Cramp sized her tired feet, knotting her toes into twisted shapes, moving up to her calves until she gasped with pain. Stamping and trying to tread away the agony, she drew the curtains, switched on the light. There was no river, no fish, no child. In bleak desolation she padded to the kitchen, poured water from the tap and drank the chlorinated stuff in thirsty gulps until, surfeited, she gagged.  
  
In the bathroom she filled the sink and splashed icy water over her face and ran wet hands through her hair. Doing so, she was aware of a tang of sheep dung and lanolin and briefly remembered her train journey. Moving back to the kitchen she found stale bread, made toast and tried to eat. She was famished, but could not swallow. She put the toast into the garbage can.  
  
In the cupboard under the sink, searching for the plastic bags she used for the trash, she remembered that she had run out.   
  
Taking her purse she let herself out of the apartment and ran down to the street, hurrying through the rain to the 'Corner Shop.'   
  
Who was just opening, ready for it's first customer.  
  
"I need garbage bags, Mr. Gabriev."  
  
"A packet of three, Ms. Inverse? You've been out?"  
  
"A lot of packets, please Mr. Gabriev."  
  
"Three packets, Ms. Inverse?"  
  
"At least six."  
  
"Cleaning your house?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"They come cheaper in fives."  
  
"Two fives then, please."  
  
"And how is little Christy, Ms. Inverse?"  
  
"Dead."  
  
"Dead, Ms. Inverse?"  
  
"Dead."  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence before either one spoke again.  
  
"In a crash. Mr. Gabriev, please don't cry." She avoided his eyes.  
  
"But he was with this daddy! You told me that!" Mr. Gabriev protested.  
  
"Dead too. Please, Gourry, how much are the bags?: She was afraid he would not let her pay.  
  
"One fifty a packet. They are old stock, a discount for quantity would not help, I think." Gourry Gabriev wept as he took the money. He put the bags in a carried bad and surreptitiously added a ball of string. She had often forgotten to tie up the bags and the neighborhood cats scattered the garbage on the doorsteps.  
  
Back in the apartment building, aware of he stale air, Lina flung open the windows. Then with bag in hand, she worked her way through the rooms. Into the bags went remnants of Dynast; clothes he had forgotten to take, confident that she would send them later on. Socks hardened by wear and tear, several old shirts, a sweater, a pair of jeans, a parka, jacket, a drawer full of gritty underwear, snapshots of happier times and a few books. She tied the necks of the bags and heaved them on to the landing.  
  
In the kitchen, she drank more water and again tried to eat, but could not.   
  
Christy's possessions were harder. Bundling his clothes into the bags she averted her eyes, held her breath to avoid his scent.   
  
When the bags were full she tied the tops as though some vicious animal might escape from them. His toys were scattered about the apartment. A plastic duck, comics, sponge and flannel in the bathroom, soft toy in his cot. 'What had he taken with him? What favorite toy?' Why couldn't she remember? She sat back on her heels, her mind blank.  
  
At last, every toy, every garment safely bagged, she dismantled the cot. It was large and heavy. She had put off buying him a bed; she manhandled it out and down the stairs. When all the bags were grouped on the doorstep, she found a taxi and, helped by the driver, loaded it and drove to a thrift store. Walking back through the rain, she felt strangely light-headed and had difficulty climbing the stairs.  
  
Some time in the late afternoon, she woke up, shivering from an exhausted sleep, got up, made strong tea and drank it scalding hot, so that it left a metallic taste on her palate. Then, using soap and ammonia, she set to work scrubbing shelves and drawers, the insides of cupboards, pulling the furniture out and washing the spaces behind. When all was clean she got out the vacuum cleaned the debris from behind the places could not clean from before. She had nearly finished when the vacuum stalled with a metallic clang and regurgitated a whistle. A whistle, a police whistle, a loud and dreadful whistle.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Gabriev stood on the doorstep. Mrs. Gabriev held a bundle against her chest. Zangulus, the tenant of the ground floor apartment, who answered the bell, listened to Mr. Gabriev's story.  
  
"Yes, she's up there, she must be." He looked up. "All her windows are opened... What? Oh no, we haven't actually spoken, we don't know her that well. We've passed on the stairs, that sort of thing. We are new here as you- you'd think she'd be cold," he said looking up for the second time. "Wouldn't you?"  
  
Mrs. Gabriev murmured indistinguishably in her native tongue, Spanish. Her husband translated, "Has some friend perhaps noticed?"  
  
"Not to my knowledge," said Zangulus, "I've been working late. I've only just gotten back as a matter of fact." He looked doubtfully at the pair. Then he noticed that the woman caught him looking and hastily looked away. "Tell you what, I'll ask my girlfriend, she may know. Wait here." He went back into the ground-floor apartment, not quite closing the door. The Gabriev's took note of his scrubbed appearance, tanned face, long curly black hair, and wearing a suit that portrayed his janitorial status.   
  
Through the half opened door the heard a conversation, punctuated by a laugh, then a burst of giggles. They waited patiently.  
  
Zangulus came back, a grin was decorated on his face. He had caught his girlfriend, Martina, half undressed; she was ticklish.  
  
"She says she supposes she's up there because earlier on she put out her garbage in a lot of bags, but she hasn't spoken to anybody. As I said, we are new, but Martina, who's not just a pretty face, suggests your Inverse lady, wouldn't go out leaving all her windows open, would she? And apparently she's on her own since - oh, here she is," he said as Martina, trying the belt of her robe around her waist, joined him in the doorway.  
  
Pink from a bath and smelling of shampoo, she smiled and said, "Hi, as i told Zangulus, she put the trash out but she's up there now."  
  
Mrs. Gabriev murmured again. Her husband translated, "And the other people from the other apartments?"  
  
"The Eddison's? Oh, they're away on vacation."  
  
Still the Gabriev's stood in the hall.  
  
"Well," Zangulus said, "I need my sleep, have to be at the office by eight. Why don't you try again tomorrow? Oh, by the way, we are away this weekend. Could you cancel our papers?"  
  
Yet again, Mrs. Gabriev murmured. Her husband said, "May we go up, please?"  
  
"Oh? Go up? I suppose you may. I suppose it's alright. But shut the street door when you leave, thanks." he turned to his girlfriend as the Gabriev's vanished up the stairs. "What a peculiar hour to visit, what an odd sort of couple. I suppose it's alright. D'you suppose I shouldn't have said about the Eddison's being gone?"  
  
"They must know the Eddison's are away," Martina said. "Naga shops there. They also get their papers there. Are you imagining those tow will tip off a burgular?" She said laughing.  
  
"Of course not," Zangulus retorted, who that thought had occurred to him. "It's just that one can't be too careful with those sorts of..."  
  
"Oh, come on, you old racist." The girl spoke as she drew him into their apartment.  
  
When eventually Lina answered the Gabriev's gentle, but insistent knocking it was nearly midnight and the food, well wrapped through it was in it's covered dish had grown cold in Sylphiel's arms. Entering as Lina stood back, Mrs. Gabriev handed her burden to her husband and gestured towards the kitchen. Taking in Lina's appearance with a slanting glance, Gourry took the food, went into the kitchen and closed the door.  
  
What followed blurred in Lina's memory. Extra ordinary thought it was to seen in retrospect, Sylphiel had bathed her and washed and dried her hair. What she did remember clearly was that not once did she try to remove the whistle from her clenched fist, but with soapy sleight of hand, transferred it from one hand to the other as she worked. Then she was back in the living room, wrapped in her bathrobe, sitting by the fire which Gourry had lighted. Cozily, in the half-dark of one lam with the night shut out behind drawn curtains.  
  
Now the Gabriev's brought the dish of hot vegetable curry and rice from the kitchen and steaming tea. Unwilling to hurt the Gabrievs feeling's, Lina ate, hesitant at first, then ravenously, as she ate, tears coursed down her cheeks.  
  
"It's delicious, thank you, and so hot, the chili's making me cry..."  
  
And the Gabrievs nodded and wiped tears from their sympathetic eyes. The she was in bed, still clutching the whistle, knees drawn up to her chin with the duvet pulled up to her ears.   
  
Waking once in the night and crying out, she had the impressing that Sylphiel, crouched at the foot of the bed, rose and laid a cool hand on her forehead and spoke in her own language, but when, later the next day, she woke up, the Gabrievs were gone.  
  
***  
  
Disclaimer - Slayers characters nor 'An Imaginative Experience' does not belong to me. 


End file.
